Four AM Nightmare
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: Burt gets a call from a distraught Kurt in New York at 4 am. He knows he can't ease this nightmare for his son, but he knows who can. Klaine. Kurt/Blaine


**Four AM Nightmare**

_Burt gets a call from a distraught Kurt in New York at 4 am. He knows he can't ease this nightmare for his son, but he knows who can. Klaine. Kurt/Blaine  
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I got the idea to write this fic when Burt mentioned Kurt waking him up at four AM with a nightmare and how he would miss it. I decided to ease his loneliness and grant his wish.

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_Riiing. Riiiing. Rii-_

The bed shifted as Carole leaned over and grabbed the handheld phone from its carriage on the side table. She clicked the answer button before the ringing could properly wake her husband. He had been having trouble sleeping since Kurt moved to New York over two months ago and only a few days ago had his sleep schedule righted itself.

"Hello?" she answered, sleep clogging her voice.

There was a very familiar sniffle on the other end of the line. _"C-c-carole,"_ Kurt managed breathily. _"Can-Can you p-put dad on? I...I know it's late, but-"_

"No, it's fine, Kurt. One moment," Carole assured him.

She pulled the phone from her ear and held it away from her as she reached over and shook Burt's shoulder. He let out a small grunt of a noise but didn't wake. Carole gave a more insistent shake and he jolted awake.

"What? What?" he asked, looking around for an attacker without getting up.

"Kurt's on the phone," Carole told him. Burt's eyebrows came together. "He sounds really upset."

Burt sat up like lightening and reached for the phone. Carole handed it over and sat back to watch. "Kurt?" Burt asked.

_"D-dad,"_ Kurt hiccupped.

"Kurt, what's wrong? What happened?" Burt asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

There was a shifting noise. _"No," _Kurt forced out. _"No, I'm not okay." _Before Burt could properly freak out, Kurt continued. His voice was so quiet and torn from the crying that it was hard to hear him. _"I-I had this horrible dream, Dad."_

A nightmare. A wake up at four in the morning, just like when Kurt was eight. Burt felt nostalgia creep up on him. Kurt was alright.

_"...I...Blaine was in a car accident."_

Nostalgia jumped to the back of Burt's mind and he listened intently to Kurt. His son sounded so broken.

_"He was h-hit by a big truck and his car f-flipped...over and over and...and he was so hurt, so broken...And he s-s-said my n-name...and th...and then h-he...Dad,"_ Kurt derailed, his breath hitching. _"I tried calling Blaine. I called and I texted a-and I checked online and I can't get a hold of him. Dad, I'm scared."_

Burt let out a small breath and looked at Carole. She had a worried look on her face; no doubt able to hear the tone of Kurt's voice but not what he was saying. He mouthed 'I'll be back' and pat her on the leg before slipping out of bed.

_"Dad, what if...w-what i-..."_ Kurt took a shaking breath and Burt heard him let out a sob. _"It's stupid. It's just a dream. Just a silly dream,"_ he repeated, trying to calm himself down.

Burt left his bedroom and began climbing the stairs toward Kurt's old room."It's not stupid," Burt assured him. "You're allowed to be scared."

_"I need to talk to Blaine. I need to...I need to know he's alright. But I can't get a hold of him. What if he was actually hurt? What if it wasn't a dream? What if he needs me? Dad, what if he's hurt and I'm not there for him?"_

Kurt was starting to sound hysterical. Burt could understand. He'd felt much the same way when Kurt's mother died, except he'd kept all his hurt bottled inside. He pushed the door open to Kurt's bedroom and peeked in. They'd bought Kurt a new bed in New York, so his old bed was still in this room, with all the stuff he'd left behind still adorning the walls. Lying on the bed was a boy with dark hair, curly instead of gelled, sleeping and looking so peaceful.

Blaine had been over to the Hummel house almost every other day. Usually he just hung out, helping around the house and talking. Carole had taught him a few cooking skills in the month since Blaine had returned from New York. He'd spent part of his summer with Kurt, until school started up and they had to split ways. Most of the time, Blaine seemed to be handling the separation well, but then there were days like today.

It was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago Blaine had been crying to Carole about how much he missed Kurt; how hard it was to handle being hundreds of miles apart, even with the daily Skype conversations. He had asked if he could spend some time in Kurt's old room. It was already very late, but he'd looked so distressed that Burt and Carole hadn't had the heart to turn him away that night. Now, surrounded by Kurt's things, he finally looked calm.

"Kurt. He's fine," Burt said quietly as he sat on Kurt's bed.

He reached out and touched Blaine's shoulder. The ex-Warbler was instantly awake. When he saw what, or who, had woken him, he calmed down and lifted a curious eyebrow.

_"But how can you be sure, Dad?"_ Kurt cried into the phone. _"It felt so real..."_

"Blaine's fine, Kurt." Blaine's eyes shot wide and he sat up, looking between Burt's face and the phone at his ear. "And I can prove it. Here."

Burt held out the phone to Blaine, who accepted it with hands that shook and eyes screwed up in worry. Blaine slid the phone to his ear.

"Kurt? What's the matter, honey?" he asked. He didn't sound at all like he'd just been sleeping.

Burt couldn't hear what Kurt said in reply, but like his wife he could hear the tone from the phone and he knew Kurt was probably crying even harder now; in relief. Blaine frowned and held the phone tighter.

"Kurt," he breathed out, sounding sad.

Burt placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder and the younger man lifted his eyes. Burt nodded to him before standing from the bed. Blaine nodded back and then returned his full attention to the boy on the phone. Burt left the room before Blaine said another word, but he could hear him talk through the wood. He made his way back downstairs to his own bedroom and his wife, who he knew was still sitting up and waiting to hear what was wrong.

It was nice to know that Kurt, in college in New York, still felt he could call Burt with his problems, no matter when. But it made him wonder about the Anderson family. Blaine spent a lot of his time with the Hummels, and rarely spoke about his own family. Burt knew the kid's relationship with his dad was strained, but he wondered if Blaine would've called his dad if this situation had been reversed. If he'd had the bad dream about Kurt. Or if he would've suffered alone. Burt had always made it his mission to let Kurt know that if he needed something, anything, that Burt would be there for him no matter what or when it was. Thinking about it now, he would have to extend that same offer to Blaine. After all, Blaine was practically family now too.

"What happened?" Carole asked as Burt slid back into bed.

"Kurt had a nightmare that Blaine died and he wasn't there for him," Burt explained. Carole's hands rose to cover her mouth and she shook her head. Burt nodded. "They're talking now."

Carole's hand slowly lowered from her face and she touched Burt's hand gently. "It's hard...being away from the person you love," she said quietly.

Burt sighed in discontent. "I hated hearing him so upset," he admitted, caressing Carole's fingers with his own.

Carole smiled. "He'll be ok. He's got you, and he's got me, and he's got Blaine," she emphasized.

"Yea," Burt agreed.

There was a long pause and the silence deepened. Creeping through the ceiling were the sounds of light footfalls. Since both Finn and Kurt had moved away, they knew it was Blaine pacing around Kurt's room. If they listened close enough, they could hear his voice. He was singing.

Burt sighed and gave his wife a small smile. "Come on. He's in good hands. Let's get some sleep."

Carole smiled back at him. They laid down, holding each other close. Burt was happy that Kurt would still call him for help, even from New York, even at four am. He was happy that he had the means to erase this nightmare for his son.

The night wore on, the footfalls slowed and ceased, and the Hummel house went to sleep in peace, though the phone was never hung up.


End file.
